The Persian Rose
by LittleSapphireKnight
Summary: When Christine and her family are invited to live in Persia on a surprise work errand for her stepfather, she expects to be intrigued by what she finds there. But nothing could prepare her for Erik. EC, half the characters are from POTO, half are made up. Mostly set in Persia, and is based VERY loosely on Kay's novel. Many plot points are changed. Rated T for some adult content.


**PLEASE NOTE: There are ADDED MADE-UP CHARACTERS in this fic. There are ALSO CANON CHARACTERS. If you see a name you do not recognize along with a name that you do, this is the reason. More canon **

This is the first chapter, so naturally it's not going to be quite as long as I hope the rest will be. I will be keeping my chapters between 1,000 and 3,000 words in length, so please do expect that!

Oh, and I love your opinions and I love your critiques, just as much as I love your praises, so reviews are ALWAYS welcome, and I respond to all!

I also love making friends and talking about my inspirations and shared Phantom interests and tastes, so please do PM me as well!

Enjoy! (I really hope you do!)

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><p><em><strong>1<strong>_

_**A Surprising Invitation**_

"What do you think our father was like, Christine?"

I looked up from my book at my brother, Harold. He was fiddling with one of the buttons on his jacket, slouched slightly on the park bench that we shared. A thoughtful look filled his eyes as he stared over the green fields and at the families. So many children, and so many parents. Mothers. Fathers.

"We have a father," I said, burying myself once again into the book. I felt a twinge of guilt for so lazily brushing the question away. But this was too emotional of a conversation to have so casually.

"You know what I mean."

I said nothing.

"Christine."

I sighed and closed my book, too aware of the subject now to continue reading Keats. Of course, I did know what he meant. Harold and I had never gotten to know our biological father, Gustave Daae. He passed when I was three and my brother was under a year, and my mother remarried a few years later and had another child, Kate, before she too left for God's Kingdom. At least we got to know her, something we were grateful for, no matter how much it hurt that she was now gone.

We were also grateful for our stepfather, Joseph Darling and Kate, for without them, we would be kin-less orphans. Joseph treated us like his own, and kept us as happy as he could, and so we quickly forgot that we shared no blood whatsoever with him. Kate, of course, we accepted immediately as our full sister, despite only sharing a mother.

"I think..." I began. I looked at him, and he looked back at me with full attention. "I think that our father was a brave and kind man, full of responsibility and purpose."

The shadow of a smile played behind his eyes. "Why do you say that?"

"Because he was your father, Harold." I opened my book again. "Like father, like son."

I glanced up at him and was pleased to see that the smile had spread to his entire face. I didn't say it just to be nice. I truly meant it; Harold had been through so much in his short fifteen years on Earth. He acted less like a boy at this point and more like a man who had seen too much of life.

"Christine, I don't remember too much of Mama," he started. "I hate to say it, but I forget a little bit more of her every day. I was so young when she died, but what I do remember is beauty, kindness, and strength. I remember she was safe, and I felt always protected. Did you feel that way?"

"I did. When I think about her, I still do."

"I think you are like her, Christine." He suddenly sat up straight, and looked me at me with sincerity. "I think that you have grown into the woman both our parents would have wanted you to be."

I beamed and put my book on my lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, and he returned the embrace. "Thank you, dear brother."

He squeezed me once, and then let go. I continued to smile, and picked up Keats. I stood up, and gestured for him to do the same.

"Come on, we told Papa" - we referred to Joseph as Papa, as he had rightfully earned the title - "that we would not be gone past noon. We don't want him worrying."

Harold agreed, and followed behind as I began down the park path toward the main road.

The heat of Paris in July of 1850 was surprisingly tame. A cool breeze hugged our bodies as the sun gently kissed our faces. It was a very short and pleasant walk before we arrived at our house. Unaware of my surroundings, and thinking only of the loveliness of the day, I started toward the front door. It wasn't until Harold suddenly stopped and pulled at my arm that I was brought back to Earth.

I whirled around to look at him, my brown curls bouncing at the motion. "What? What is it?"

Harold stared wide eyed at something to the left of our house. I looked to where his gaze was held, toward the sidewalk across the street from our house. What I found there was an elegant-looking giant carriage, pulled by the two most royal white horses I had ever seen, the animals decorated with red and gold cloth and armor. The carriage was equally grand, rubies peeking out of an enormous thing that seemed to be built of more silver, gold, and ivory than all of France put together. Red curtains were drawn on the windows, and a lightly dark-skinned man, robed completely in white, red, and gold, watched as astonished passerbies gaped at the completely out-of-place thing.

When his eyes landed on us, Harold tugged at my arm. "Come on, we shouldn't just stand here and stare. It's not respectable."

I turned and allowed him to pull me toward the house. I didn't realize that I had my mouth open until I began talking. "Who...who do you think it is?"

"I don't know, but I don't think they are French. That doesn't look like any French leader or celebrity I have ever seen."

"Maybe they are Spanish. Or Italian."

"Christine, I'm not even sure they are European."

A feeling of giddy intrigue overcame me. A foreigner, here, on our street! And not just any foreigner, a non-European one. From lands far beyond our own, right here, right now.

As my brother pulled the front door open, I rushed into the halls and straight for the parlor, where my family normally spent the majority of our days. As I rounded the last corner, I found myself shouting, "Papa! There is someone outside! There is-"

As I ran into the parlor, my eyes became wide. Three dark men, wearing the same colors adorned on the carriage, horses, and horsemen, stood in my family's room. Two of the men were twice my size and held unemotional, almost threatening, expressions on their faces, and the third man was much smaller and looked infinitely less hostile. In fact, he smiled at me as I entered the room. I felt my brother reach my side and freeze next to me. I knew he was thinking the same thing as me.

My stepfather stood between the two large men, and beneath the genteel look on his face, I could see a glimmer of fear and uncertainty. He smiled and cleared his throat. "Christine, Harold." He suddenly gestured to the chair in front of him, which faced away from us. A shock coursed through me at the realization that a man, whom I had not noticed before, sat lazily in it.

He continued, "Please meet the Shah of Persia. Please bow before his excellence."

The smaller man seemed to process what my stepfather was saying, and then began speaking to the man in the chair - the Shah - in a language I had never heard before. The Shah suddenly stood and faced us, and there was no mistaking that he was indeed a powerful man. Tall and lean, with a look of entitlement on his face, he brought himself up straight and his deep brown eyes looked over our heads, as if to say that he would not bother to look down at us, and that we were not to look him directly in the eyes. His brown skin matched the three men behind him, but his clothes were somehow more royal and more elegant than any of his companions, the reds deeper and the golds brighter.

I looked at my stepfather in shock, and he gave me an urgent look, pleading with me to do as he said. I glanced at my brother, and we both made a deep bow. A million thoughts coursed through my head as I did this; the main thought being that, although Joseph Darling was a very great, very renowned man - he was one of the most celebrated architects in Western Europe - why was the Shah of Persia taking an interest in my family?

We stood back up, and before I could ask any questions, my brother blurted out, "Where is Kate?"

"I sent her to her room so that I could speak to the Shah in a professional manner," he responded rather quickly.

After a few moments, I began, "Why-"

"The Shah is here to request that I build him a palace. He is here to ask if I would travel to Persia with him and live there as a royal architect."

My mind went blank, I could see the Shah cross his arms from the corner of my eye.

Harold suddenly asked, his voice filled with the same sense of dull surprise that I felt, "When?"

My stepfather smiled, but his nerves could not be concealed. "As soon as we can."


End file.
